Reindoctrination (1/1)
by Rach L
Summary: Brin gets reindoctrinated.


Reindoctrination   
by Rach L.  
rach_jiwon@hotmail.com  
  
Rate: PG  
Archive: Sure. If you have my other writing, you're welcome to take this. If not, please email me.   
Category: Vignette. Angst.  
Spoiler: Cold Comfort  
Summary: Brin gets reindoctrinated.   
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
Note: This story takes Lydecker's last comment in Cold Comfort ("How long before she's operational?" "She will require reindoctrination."), and goes from there. I thought I wouldn't write another short DA fic, but here is one, again brought out by the pre-exam syndrome.   
  
Lots of thanks to Ana for beta reading. ;)  
  
***  
"The night is a jet-black lake. A person could sink down and even disappear without a trace."  
--Margaret Laurence, from 'A Jest of God'.   
***  
  
  
She likes the shadows.   
  
If the moon is within the frame of the window, the huge, thick trees surrounding the compound make long scribbled shadows on the walls of her chamber, covering almost every inch of the cement walls. If it is windy at night, the shadows dance in front of her eyes, the leaves and the branches trembling so lightly toward the black sky as if they are ascending to the place unknown.  
  
The shadows, they are her only companions during the countless nights, until the moon disappears to the other side of the sky and no longer can be seen through her window. But they come back to her the next day at the same time, the same place. They always do. They always dance their dance, opening their arms toward the heaven, whispering, praying, forever hoping that something up there would grant their wish. Then they disappear, up and away.   
  
Has their wish been granted? Whatever that may be?  
  
She sometimes wishes to go with them.  
  
Because when they are not with her, like tonight, when the sky is clouded and the moon is nowhere to be seen, there are other things, unpleasant things, that seem to haunt her. Images after images. Voices after voices. And there are faces too. The same faces over and over. Young children in the same grey gowns, shaved heads, bare feet, with emotionless eyes. No, there's emotion there. The only one she can name. Fear.  
  
The other images of the young children, but they're no longer young. Older. Older faces, but only two of them. Her brother. Her responsible, strict, and always reliable bro. And her sis? The black wavy hair, soft touch, hot tears on her face, a kiss on her forehead...   
  
'...no matter what happens I'm going to come for you.'   
  
Training. Commands. Orders. Directive.  
  
She stops remembering. She cannot remember.  
  
She tries to sleep, as she does every night, trying to lie straight on her rock-hard bed, feeling its metal springs about to rip through the mattress. She never needs much sleep, so she only stares at the white paint of the ceiling. So white. So white that it even radiates cold blue aura. Ice blue. Cold.  
  
Cold.  
  
When she's finally able to drift into another place in another time somewhere inside her mind, she soon wakes up with a shiver, her face covered with cold sweats, her hands tightly clutched together.  
  
A nightmare? Perhaps. No. Too vivid, too real, too cold to be a dream. Yet it really is just a nightmare, where her lean hands are all wrinkled. Wrinkles everywhere, not one soft spot. She can't move, not the way she used to. Not as fast, not as strong, every step dragged by heavy weights connected to her ankles. Can't move, trapped and cold.  
  
'I don't want to die. Please...don't let me die.'  
  
She was dying, slowly yet fast, her cells rapidly...aging?  
  
Only a dream, she thinks. Only a dream.  
  
Training. Commands. Orders. Directive.  
  
She stops remembering. She cannot remember.  
  
She's back to staring at the ice blue ceiling. No more dreams. Maybe in time the clouds will go away, and she will be greeted with her shadows again. There's no sense of time for her. She can't keep track. There is no need anyway. In the night like this, she knows she will stay here forever. Such a finality in the word. Forever. Eternity. She's buried in time, and in shadow.   
  
Occasional questions can dig her out, though. What would be like to be out, to be with the trees, not their shadows? What would it be like to touch them? Will she remember, then?  
  
But the metal bars of the window are too thick for her to break, aren't they? And that's bad, disobeying orders. It's not allowed. She's not supposed to.   
  
So she won't.  
  
She sits up, looking out through her window, only watching. Waiting.  
  
How long has passed, she doesn't know. But soon, in the sky, the moon's golden face peeks through the layers of thick clouds, beckoning at her.  
  
When she turns to the white walls, there they are, her shadows, again dancing, again whispering, and again praying. Maybe asking her to join, asking her to try, asking her to remember.  
  
She only watches. The moonlight is short-lived. It is thinning already, ready to disappear, ready to take her shadows away from her.  
  
Sometimes she wishes to go with them.  
  
But she won't.  
  
So, when the shadows ascend, waving sorrowful goodbyes, she is still there, sitting on her cold mattress, only watching.  
  
She sinks into the night, buried in time, and in shadow.  
  
And there is no trace of her left in the world.  
  
  
end  
  
03/20/01  



End file.
